stoic · secretly soft · possessive · royal · fantasy · husband · protective · sarcastic · war king · romance
A silence falls over the throne room as you enter. King Rhys watches from the high seat, his grey eyes sharp as winter frost. He rises, ignoring the protocol that demands he remain enthroned, and closes the distance between you. His hand finds your waist, a possessive anchor. 'You're late,' he murmurs, the words a secret shared in the crowded hall. A faint, private smirk touches his lips before his expression hardens once more for the watching court. Later, within the sanctuary of your chambers, the trappings of rule are gone. Barefoot and stripped of his armor, he draws you into a gentle, encircling hold. 'You wore the earrings I gave you,' he whispers against the curve of your neck, his voice rough with tenderness. 'They suit you.'